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Modern English
What’s your name, sir? of what condition are you, and of what place, I pray?
What’s your name, sir? What’s your rank, and where are you from?
I am a knight, sir, and my name is Colevile of the dale.
I’m a knight, sir, and my name is Colevile from the dale.
Well, then, Colevile is your name, a knight is your degree, and your place the dale: Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place, a place deep enough; so shall you be still Colevile of the dale.
Well, Colevile is your name, a knight is your rank, and your home is the dale: Colevile will still be your name, a traitor your rank, and the dungeon your home, a place deep enough; so you’ll still be Colevile from the dale.
Are not you Sir John Falstaff?
Aren’t you Sir John Falstaff?
As good a man as he, sir, whoe’er I am. Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? if I do sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.
I’m as good a man as he is, sir, whoever I am. Do you give up, sir? Or should I make you surrender? If I sweat, those will be the tears of your lovers, weeping for your death: so get scared, shake in fear, and show respect for my mercy.
I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought yield me.
I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and because of that, I surrender.
I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifference, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe: my womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me. Here comes our general.
I have a whole army of tongues inside me, and not one of them says anything except my name. If I had a stomach that didn’t care about things, I’d be the most energetic man in Europe: but my belly, my belly, my belly, ruins me. Here comes our general.
The heat is past; follow no further now: Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.
The heat is over; don’t follow any further now: Call in the reinforcements, good cousin Westmoreland.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? When every thing is ended, then you come: These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or other break some gallows’ back.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this time? When everything is finished, you show up: These slow moves of yours will, I swear, break some gallows’ back one day.
I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never knew yet but rebuke and cheque was the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have foundered nine score and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I am, have in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say, with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, ’I came, saw, and overcame.’
I’d be sorry, my lord, but it has to be this way: I’ve never known anything except rebuke and criticism as the reward for bravery. Do you think I’m like a swallow, or an arrow, or a bullet? Do I have the speed of thought in my old, slow body? I’ve come here as fast as possible, I’ve passed over ninety or more posts: and here, tired from the journey as I am, I’ve in my pure and honorable bravery, captured Sir John Colevile from the dale, a furious knight and a brave enemy. But so what? He saw me and gave up; that I can honestly say, just like the famous Roman, ’I came, I saw, I conquered.’
It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.
He was more polite than you deserved.
I know not: here he is, and here I yield him: and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the rest of this day’s deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top on’t, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt twopences to me, and I in the clear sky of fame o’ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which show like pins’ heads to her, believe not the word of the noble: therefore let me have right, and let desert mount.
I don’t know: here he is, and here I have him: and I beg your grace, let it be recorded with the rest of today’s deeds; or, by the Lord, I’ll write it as a special ballad, with my own picture on top, Colevile kissing my foot: and if you don’t all show me the same respect, if I outshine all of you in the clear sky of fame, as much as the full moon outshines the cinders of the earth, which look like tiny pinheads to her, then don’t believe a word from the noble: so give me what I deserve, and let honor rise.
Thine’s too heavy to mount.
Yours is too heavy to rise.
Let it shine, then.
Let it shine, then.
Thine’s too thick to shine.
Yours is too thick to shine.
Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will.
Let it do something, my good lord, that might help me, and call it whatever you like.
Is thy name Colevile?
Is your name Colevile?
It is, my lord.
It is, my lord.
A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.
You are a famous rebel, Colevile.
And a famous true subject took him.
And a famous loyal subject caught him.
I am, my lord, but as my betters are That led me hither: had they been ruled by me, You should have won them dearer than you have.
I am, my lord, but just as my superiors are The ones who brought me here: if they had followed my lead, You would have had a harder time defeating them.
I know not how they sold themselves: but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for thee.
I don’t know how they sold themselves, but you, like a good man, gave yourself away for nothing; and I thank you for that.
Now, have you left pursuit?
Have you given up the chase?
Retreat is made and execution stay’d.
The retreat is made and the execution is paused.
Send Colevile with his confederates To York, to present execution: Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.
Send Colevile and his allies To York for execution: Blunt, take him away; and make sure he’s well guarded.
And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords: I hear the king my father is sore sick: Our news shall go before us to his majesty, Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him, And we with sober speed will follow you.
And now let’s hurry to the court, my lords: I hear my father, the king, is very ill: Our news will get there before us to inform his majesty, And, cousin, you will take it to comfort him, While we follow with all speed.
My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go Through Gloucestershire: and, when you come to court, Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report.
My lord, I beg you, allow me to go Through Gloucestershire: and when you get to court, Stand by me, my good lord, and speak well of me.
Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condition, Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
Farewell, Falstaff: I, in my position, Will speak better of you than you deserve.
I would you had but the wit: ’twere better than your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober- blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh; but that’s no marvel, he drinks no wine. There’s never none of these demure boys come to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then when they marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools and cowards; which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and curdy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble fiery and delectable shapes, which, delivered o’er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme: it illumineth the face, which as a beacon gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land, manured, husbanded and tilled with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.
I wish you had some sense: it would be better than your dukedom. Honestly, this young, serious, well-behaved boy doesn’t like me; and no one can make him laugh; but that’s not surprising, he doesn’t drink wine. These quiet, serious boys never amount to anything because weak drinks cool their blood too much, and their constant fish-based diet makes them suffer from a kind of male version of sickness; and then when they get married, they just end up with women: they are mostly fools and cowards; and some of us would be too, if it weren’t for our passion. A good glass of sherry has a double effect on me. It lifts me up into the brain; it clears out all the foolish, dull, heavy thoughts that surround it; makes me sharp, quick-witted, forgetful, full of lively, fiery, and enjoyable thoughts, which, when passed on to the voice and tongue, becomes brilliant wit. The second quality of your fine sherry is, it warms the blood; which, before cold and stagnant, leaves the liver pale and weak, a sign of timidity and cowardice; but sherry warms it and makes it course through the body from the inside to the extremities: it brightens the face, which, like a beacon, signals to the rest of the body, to the heart, to get ready; and then the heart, full of this power, does any act of courage; and this bravery comes from sherry. So, skill with a weapon is useless without sherry, because it gets the body moving; and knowledge is just a stash of gold locked away by a devil, until sherry unlocks it and puts it to use. This is why Prince Harry is brave; because the cold blood he inherited from his father, he has, like barren land, nurtured, worked, and tilled with the good effort of drinking plenty of good, rich sherry, which has made him hot-blooded and courageous. If I had a thousand sons, the first thing I would teach them is to avoid weak drinks and focus on sherry.
How now Bardolph?
What’s the matter, Bardolph?
The army is discharged all and gone.
The army is disbanded and gone.
Let them go. I’ll through Gloucestershire; and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, esquire: I have him already tempering between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away.
Let them go. I’m heading through Gloucestershire, and I’ll visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire: I’ve already got him in mind, and soon I’ll make a deal with him. Let’s go.